Bluebeard's son
by whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer
Summary: Harry doesn't say that she only learnt to "spread about" was from watching Winston and mimicking him. He's too busy thinking if Yaga's advice is suppose to be e Dursleys would be the small cage. His father (Harry can't help but remember how his maroon eyes had glinted in something the "first time" Harry met the therapist) or wizards. Or rather Dumbledore.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticwriter. Part five in the "If only it was a simple as a reparo to mend our broken teacup." series.

Warning: Cannibalism, a past attempt at murdering a child is somewhat graphically written, torture is referenced, keeping eyeballs after death is mentioned.

All these things are in this chapter. If any one of those things make you uncomfortable you probably don't want to read this story.

[\\] = line break.

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"I'll miss you," Harry tells her. The confession is told in a soft whisper as Harry finishes packing his trunk (nevermind he's practically spent the entirety of his last day packing his trunk because his parents don't need to know nor does Harry want to admit towards it).

He's taking Hedwig to Hogwarts so he can write letters to his parents instead of Baba Yaga with him. He's going to miss her even more than when he was at the Dursleys; when he had forgotten her yet still turned around to voice his thoughts to companion he couldn't remember but knew, he just knew without knowing why, there should be one.

Just like he knows that it's important that this time he gets to tell her that he misses her along with a goodbye unlike last time.

Yaga stares unnervingly at him but her hood is down. She's lazily sprawled out on his bedroom and despite being a snake she currently reminds him of the Disney Princess with lots of golden hair that's trapped in a tower or like Winston after a walk.

The mental image makes him laugh quietly to himself.

"Don't let father put you in a cage again," he tells her after Harry finds a place to get on his knees and stroke her coils. They're smooth not soft like a dog's fur and Harry enjoys that. He loves his dad. Harry adores old and loyal Winston and has come to like Fudge but he's not a dog person. (Nor is his father but they both love Harry's dad and that's why Hannibal stole Winston back from Will's ex wife.)

Yaga puts her head in his lap but tilts up slightly so she can look him in the eye.

"The only thing crueler than a cage where your coils can't comfortably fit is a cage where you think you can spread about freely because it's so vast."

Harry doesn't say that she only learnt to "spread about" was from watching Winston and mimicking him. He's too busy thinking if Yaga's advice (wise but Harry never wants to hear it because it's like his father once said, "truth, like humans, is an ugly thing.") is suppose to be about.

The Dursleys would be the small cage. His father (Harry can't help but remember how his maroon eyes had glinted in something the "first time" Harry met the therapist) or wizards would be the big cage. Or rather Dumbledore. Hagrid had been nice. Hagrid had made Harry cake and bought Harry Hegwig. He wasn't perfect but he had tried.

Harry keeps stroking Yaga's coils. He doesn't ask who is the big cage. (It's rude to ask questions you already know the answer to.) He doesn't want to know. Despite his father's recent actions Harry will take his parents over the Dursleys any day. That is if Harry's aunt and uncle were still alive. Unlike Mundungus Fletcher their deaths had been in the papers Uncle Vernon had often loved to read.

[\\]

That night in the comfort of his own bed instead of the mattress that smelled of dog piss (which was the only reason it was Harry's) under the stairs or the new and rarely used bed in Dudley's second bedroom, Harry dreams of being strangled again.

This time he doesn't drown too. Instead he's against someone's warm chest. There's soft whispers spoken in his ear. The breath, like the person's chest, against his ear is warm when Harry feels as cold as the water in the tub Uncle Vernon had tried to drown Harry in (thick white fingers pressing into his dark throat that's darker than it should be, it will bruise Harry can't help but think as Vernon holds him under the cold water in the tub because if the bitch is bad the pup will be too and Harry more than proved that earlier) that Harry can't understand and it doesn't matter. They'll just be empty promises.

Suddenly the warm long, slender fingers are just gone from his throats to be replaced by the cool metal of knife. His blood is warm unlike the rest of him that the blood spills out on.

Harry finally feels warm as he wakes up suddenly. He didn't scream from the nightmare. (He would have woken the Dursleys and then Harry would be in for a nightmare except he's finally back with his parents.) His breathe comes out harsh and fast (because he can't breathe even though he sees his chest rise and fall) though.

Harry lays his head back and just tries to breathe normally. He's not clever but he's not stupid either. He knows better than to try and sleep again.

[\\]

Here's the thing: his parents are monsters. They're not under the beds of children (that would be ridiculous after all, his father rather liked his creature comforts and sleeping in a king sized bed instead of under a child's was one of his comforts)  
but they are monsters but so are the rest of the human race. Muggle or wizard.

Harry understand that more than he ever did before. His memories of his father therapy sessions with Harry are still fresh in his mind.

Once upon a time Harry had thought his father was the monster (Hannibal the Cannibal) and his dad is the husband of the monster. He's not mistaken anymore.

Both his parents are monsters. His dad is just to a lesser monster (he's a fisher not a hunter) but still a monster.

Harry will eat their pomegranate and belong to the underworld (to monsters) then be raped by Zeus. Because in the end it hadn't matter that Persephone was his own daughter it didn't stop Zeus from raping her (it, Harry being Petunia's nephew, hadn't stopped the abuse because they thought they could beat something out of Harry he couldn't control).

[\\]

The buggy makes a sound of protest every other minute. Hegwig hoots in protest and dad winces at the attention it brings.

"Hagrid didn't tell you how to get there?" Dad asks Harry. Harry, from the corner of his eye, can't help but note how dad looks like he needs a cuppa of mint. Once father gets back from asking for the taxi driver's card he ask father to make sure dad gets one when they get back since Harry won't be there to make the cuppa for dad.

"No," Harry admits. His dad lets out a tired sigh. It's probably stress of this whole situation, letting Harry go after just getting him back, and the crowd of people that are shouting along making too much noise for dad.

"Great," dad says sarcastically more to himself than to Harry. If Harry smiles despite the situation his dad doesn't call him out on it.

If Freddie Lounds, the tabloid writer who coined the phrase "murder husbands", were to know about them she would call them a murder family but they all are sassy so it's more like sassy murder family than just cannibalistic murder family.

"packed with Muggles, of course -" Harry swung round, his should-be morbid thoughts interrupted by a a plump woman who was talking to four boys who all had flaming red hair.

Each child but a little girl younger than Harry was pushing a buggy that had a trunk just like Harry's in it's buggy. They even had an owl too.

Harry tugged on his dad's sleeve even though dad had already noticed the wizards too.

"I'll be back," he promised before following them, leaving his father alone with the buggy as he waited for his husband to meet up with him. Father who probably was recalling a recipe a from the past or he had yet to cook to make the horribly rude taxi driver out of.

"Now, what's the platform number?" said the mother of several children.

"Nine and three-quarters!" the only girl of the family, also (and unsurprisingly) a red-headed, pipped up. She was holding onto her mother's hand tightly. Harry stared at the sight. Something in him wished to know what that was like.

"Mom, can't I go?" The little girl begged her mother.

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched proudly, looking quite like a red peacock,  
toward platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it - but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

Harry was thankfully that the mother had several children.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," the boy told the his mother. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone - but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there - and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere. There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said, finally speaking to the plump woman who he'd been spying on for several minutes.

"Hello, dear," she warmly greeted. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is my parents and I don't-"

"How to get onto the platform?" she interrupted but did so kindly. Because of that Harry didn't think rude but said: "Yes ma'am."

"Not to worry," the mom told him even though he was just a stranger. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Thank you," said Harry. "I need to go find my dad and father though." With that Harry rushed off, back to where he had left his dad.

By then father had returned. "I found the way," he painted out. He was a bit out of breath for running and not being squished by the busy crowd which had been far more difficult than it should have been.

Dad pushed his trolley to where Harry lead them. The barrier looked very solid, Harry noted once they arrived there, even though the other children had managed to go through it.

Harry started to walk toward it, his parents and buggy behind him. His dad probably was readjusting his glasses as father watched Harry unblinking; his maroon eyes probably had a twinkle of curiosity in them, like a cat when it found a new mouse to play with before it ate it.

(Just like Dumbledore yet Harry was sure the cat would be more merciful than father. After all one did not touch, much less harm along with filching, something that was father's and expect not to be tortured much less live.)

People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. Despite the fear of smashing right into it Harry kept the appearance of confidence he did not feel as he got closer to the barrier. Breaking into a run, Harry closed his vivid green eyes (that his father loved and surely should Harry die) for the crash only not to crash.

Harry opened his eyes before blinking in surprise at the sight that greeted him.

A genuine smile greeted Harry's parents when they followed down the rabbit's hole.

[\\]

Later on the train, which at the same time outside of it Hannibal asks Mrs. Weasley to be a guest for dinner since she was so kind to help his son who she had not even known, Harry makes his first friend.

Harry shares the candy (actually candy not desserts father bakes) with Ron and gets Dumbledore for his chocolate frog card. It's eating so much candy that makes Harry sick when Ron asks.

Later, he's going to write his father not to make dinner with Mrs. Weasley if she does anything rude in the future because Ron is his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Originally posted on ao3 under the pen name youngjusticewriter.

* * *

Chapter Text

Scars have the power to remind us that the past was real, his father had once told Harry.

When Harry use to live with the Dursleys (the first time), he loved his odd scar he got from the car crash. It was unique and his. His relatives couldn't take it away; they couldn't cut it like they did his hair (until part of his scalp was sticky with blood because Aunt Petunia had started hacking, well as much as one can hack with a pair of scissors, at the mess that was his hair in frustration before the scissors just broke).

Now Harry just wants to scratch at it. Claw at it, blood staining his fingers and would dry under his nails but he wouldn't care because it's gone and people will stop gawking at the scar, therefore Harry, like a zoo exhibit.

He doesn't do it though.

Even though Harry doesn't remember his parents. He only remembers the shade - so very much like his own eyes that his father loves - of the killing curse from that night and that's it.

[\\]

During his first week every night Harry sits in the Gryffindor common room, has a pen in his hand and a piece of parchment on top of one many thick school books.

The pen presses against the parchment. Black ink make a dot that only grows as Harry can't think of what to write.

Only once in the week does Harry actually write words on the parchment. He immediately tosses the unfinished letter in the fire that he is sitting next to.

Watching the letter burn doesn't make Harry feel better at all. Writing a letter (or rather part of it before Harry had tossed it in the fireplace) doesn't make him feel better. Not writing hurts too.

It's that realization that makes Harry join Ron in wizarding chess despite knowing he sucks muggle chess along with knowing full well his best friend has a talent for the game. Percy tries to advice Harry; it makes the game more confusing but Harry's life is bloody well confusing so he doesn't really mind that Percy's not-quite shouted advice sucks.

[\\]

 **Dear father and dad, how are you? How's Winston, Fudge, and Yaga?**

 **Hogwarts has been interesting. By that I mean several things. First I'm glad I choose Hedwig as my only pet to bring instead of Yaga despite her being my faithful companion since that day at the zoo. My phone doesn't work. I can't call, receive calls. The same with texts. Even the camera and Netflix app don't work.  
The sound a fellow house mate (I'll go in further detail later in the letter) made in light of that news could be compared to the anguish cry a man made when his father was killed by a six fingered man (not father) as the man watched.**

 **During my first day my friend Ron and I got in trouble. Hogwarts is vast along with staircases that move and portraits that are terrible at directions. It's very easy to get lost. Ron and I did. The morning we tried to get to classes Flitch, the caretaker of Hogwarts, found us trying to open a door that (before he apparently disappeared) Headmaster Dumbledore made out of bounds. Wisely the Headmistress McGonagall (whose standing in until Dumbledore hopefully is found) decided not to tell the students after the sorting of house in fear of pranksters, such as Ron's brothers, wouldn't go purposely seeking what's in th**

[/]

Headmistress McGonagall ("You may refer to me as Proffessor McGonagall in the classroom, Longbottom.") is Harry's favorite teacher despite his expectations. Well his favorite teacher for now. He hasn't had potions yet.

Her grey eyes, sharp just like her tongue if you dare to cause mischief in her classroom, remind Harry of ' cats. It was comforting despite the stormy, worn nature of them. He always preferred ' cats and photo albums of said cats than Aunt Marge's dogs and their bites that were just as vicious as the dogs' owner.

Winston is a cuddlier. It had taken a long time for Harry and Fudge to get along despite his dad's hard work. Despite those things Harry would take a cat over a dog that isn't his dad's any day.

[\\]

The second friend Harry makes is a boy who actually enjoys herbology more than Harry does. Professor Sprout, a grey haired and kind hearted witch who always had a hat on top of her flyaway hair and soil on her robes, puts them together and Ron with Hermione Granger. Granger, like Ron and most of the other students, didn't do well in the magical greenhouse despite being a know it all.

"You're amazing at this," Neville tells him in mumble all the while staring at soil and his hands.

"Thanks,"'Harry whispers back as Professor Sprout gives a speech about the magical seeds they're planting for the school year. "You're good at this too you know."

Neville ducks his head. Harry remembers how Neville hadn't shown any signs of magic until one of his family members put him in mortal danger or least that's what Neville had said the night of the sorting.

The memory makes him frown.

"Plants are easier than people," Neville admits to him quietly before shrugging. That makes Harry smile (he hasn't smiled a lot lately) a little though Neville doesn't see it.

"My dad feels the same way about his dogs."

Neville nods. It's completely understandable to him and in a way Harry gets this way of thinking.

[\\]

Professor Quirrell is a terrible teacher and head of house. (There's nothing else to say.)

[\\]

The first letter Harry gets since arriving at Hogwarts is from Hagrid. His eyes scan the letter (an invite to tea this Friday) and he's thankful. He is. He likes Hagrid (he misses his father and dad).

[\\]

 **Why? Why father? I know why. Or rather why you waited. It still hurts though. I'm angry at you but I miss you. (Is this what you did to dad?)**

[\\]

Professor Snape didn't dislike Harry (a notion he came up with the night of the sorting). No, he hated Harry. And Neville. Hermione too despite how she knows the knows the (rude) bombardment of questions that he asks Harry with gleaming coal eyes as Harry "the newest celebrity" is left floundering.

Or just any Gryffindor will do. But especially Harry whose snarky replies (in defense of himself, in protecting Neville who accidentally found a way to melt his cauldron) aren't appreciated if lost house points are to count as evidence.

(Ron was right. Snape could be nasty.)

[\\]

Harry burns another letter that night. Ron tells (in a whisper but Harry still hears it over the crackle of the fire) Neville not to ask.

Harry ignores them. Instead he stares as the letter is consumed in fire. Harry thinks of Zeus' rape of Persephone who was his own daughter; of the Dursleys' abuse because of something he, their nephew, couldn't control.

The simple, ugly truth is Harry will take the monsters that are his parents over the monster that manipulated Harry's life from afar. The monster that knowingly choose to leave him with Dursleys.

(The hat was right; he would have been great in Slytherin.)

(Harry is the wolf in sheep clothing not Red Riding Hood. He's a Slytherin in Gryffindor robes.)


End file.
